


The Pickpocket and the Ghost

by CavannaRose



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: F/M, Homelessness, Theft, troubled youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A troubled young woman comes from London to start her new life, what she didn't expect was to find someone like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

America. A shiny new world spread out before her eyes as the plane coasted above Los Angeles. The City of Angels, she had heard it called. Though the young Londoner tried to portray an image of cool self control, at the moment she couldn't help but press herself against the glass, brown eyes big with wonder at the sheer scope of the place. Cars as far as she could see in any direction.

It was a miracle that Dania had made it across the ocean at all. Her grifter father had finally vanished into the night three years ago, never reappearing. She didn't know if he was dead, in prison, or just plain sick of being around her. With her mother having died soon after giving birth, it had left the girl completely alone, without a home. Oh sure, she could have contacted the NSPCC, but what would that have gotten her at her age? A couple lackluster, if not abusive, foster or group homes?

Instead she had taken to the streets. There were always plenty of empty flats around, some of them even with owners so there was food in the cupboards and electricity. Learning to pick pockets had been damned touch and go, but she was small and quick, and the few times she'd gotten caught her big eyes and soft features had earned her nothing more than a slap on the wrist before she was sent on her way.

Now, though. Now she was an expert, and there was the slightest hardness behind her very young eyes. She was lean, an air about her that could only be described as hungry. Malnourished, lonely, and mistrustful, there wasn't much else she could do. The bobbies had been getting keen on her, so the fact was she had to split, no matter how good she'd gotten at the life in London. With very few options at her disposal, she'd traded her virginity for a fake ID and a plane ticket... and as the plane touched down she smiled. Time for a new life.

She disembarked with the horde of LA sheep and beautiful people, her ragged pullover and baggy, belted jeans looking like she was part of the boho movement rather than the bum she was. Coming down the stairs she tripped, and a concerned gentleman was quick to catch her arm and help her up, completely oblivious to the fact that she helped herself to his wallet as he was doing so. They were far less to pin it on her if they came to her rescue, rather than blindly crashing into the marks. You had to reel them in, like fish.

What she needed was a quick tour of the area, something to give her the lay of the land so she knew where the tourists were thickest and dumbest. That's when she saw it. The vehicle... she couldn't even begin to determine what kind of vehicle it was supposed to be, was labeled 'Eternal Darkness Tour'. A small, satisfied grin crossed her face. Gullible tourists? Check. She hurried over with her small bag of possessions clutched in her hand, pasting a fake expression of wide eyed curiosity on her face, a ruse she had used more than once.

The tour itself was bland, but what it provided her was a list of addresses that were currently unoccupied. She'd picked the one she'd be crashing in for the night, a stately place that the uninspired guide had referred to as the 'Murder House'. After dumping the wallet and cards, keeping only the cash the man had carried, so as not to be tracked, she picked up something to eat, a second meal surreptitiously tucked into her cardigan. Two for one was always her kind of deal. So armed with food, and completely fagged from the plane trip, she made her way back to the infamous Murder House and let herself in through the back way.

The best thing about places like this? If she got caught she could play it off as thrill-seeking instead of squatting. Always have more than one plan, that was her motto. Moving through the place, she had to admire the furnishings, as forlorn from disuse as they were. The place was mint, better than anywhere she'd ever crashed before. She tucked her food inside the refrigerator, even though the electricity wasn't on. It was one of the few places in a building that were pest proof after all. She wanted to go upstairs and examine the bedrooms, but at this point she was so exhausted, and the old couch looked so inviting. She pulled her cardigan off, leaving her in just a camisole and a brassiere, wiping down the upholstery with her sweater to clear off the dust. Shaking it out, she folded it neatly to use as a pillow, passing out as soon as her eyes closed.


	2. Chapter 2

She wasn't sure what woke her first. Perhaps it was a drop in the room temperature, or a sound. If was hard to pinpoint exactly, but years of living on the street put her on the alert. She did her best not to allow the rigidness of fear to disrupt her sleeping posture, instead staying as limp as possible, eyes closed, breathing steady. If there was someone else in the house, she'd like to get a sense of them before they knew she was awake.

What she didn't expect was the gentle touch. In spite of her self she stiffened as whomever was in the room with her lifted a few locks of her hair, caressing them lightly. That was just too much for her limited self control and Dania's eyes snapped open in fright and she sat up, tugging her hair from his hand with a sharp, almost painful wrenching motion.

“How did you get in here?”

"How did I get in here?!?" Her voice rose, panic making her brown eyes bigger than normal in her thin face. "How did you get in here? Who are you?!?" She scrambled back along the couch, pressing herself against the arm as she inspected the strange boy. With his curling blonde hair and eyes as warm and dark as her own, he was almost pretty, in that early 90s kind of way. Dania balled her hands into fists, sliding one foot to the ground beside the couch, ready to flee at a moment's notice. Her British accent grew thicker the more anxious she became.

"You've got some explaining to do, you right tosser. This may not be my house, but I sure as shite know it ain't yourn. The place is abandoned, it is, the fella on the tour said so. Nobbut was here when I came in, an' squatters rights says that makes th'place mine fer the night. Ye can just clear off, ye ken." She tried her hardest to look as intimidating as a scrawny teenage girl with eyes too big for her face could, furrowing her brows to mask how nervous she truly was.


	3. Chapter 3

The boy cocked his head and gave her a strange look. "Why are you talking like that?" He was inspecting her like she was some kind of interesting insect under a microscope, as if he could see into her very soul, and she didn't like it. Not one bit. She reached behind her, eyes never leaving his earnest face as she felt around the couch cushion for her cardigan. Finding it she tugged it she looked at the boy.

"Well I ain't from 'round here, am I then? If I was I mighta heard that somebody was calling this kip their own. Look. You're pretty posh from tip to tails. so hows about you throw your rager somewhere else tonight and I'll be gone in the morning?" She was delaying the moment of vulnerability where she pulled the sweater over her head, but she wasn't liking the way the boy's eyes kept dipping down to the collar of her camisole either. It was one of those lose-lose situations the older and bigger folks on the homeless circuit back home spoke about just before they forced you out of yet another hidey hole.

"You sound like you're in Oliver Twist. I didn't think anyone still spoke like that. I mean, even the old ones don't." The boy smiled, crossing his legs where he was now sitting on the floor beside the couch. Had he always been that close? Dania felt like maybe he was edging closer. Best to lose sight before he was bloody on top of her. Blackness for a second and then her head popped through the neck hole and she was blissfully clothed. He hadn't moved, thank the universe for small miracles.

"Well I ain't from Oliver Twist, I just weren't afforded as many academic opportunities as some folks. Got it?" She slid off the couch, as far away from the curly-haired boy as possible, standing up and brushing at the thighs of her baggy jeans, futilely fighting against the ever-present wrinkles. "Look, this has been all kinds of delight, I'm certain, but I think mayhap its time for one of us to leave." She gave him what she hoped was a significant look, and then glanced towards the exit.

Give a guy credit where it was due, he was fast. Quiet too. When she turned around again he was standing right in front of her, close enough she could reach out and touch him if she wanted. It was starting to get more than a little uncomfortable, and Dania was suddenly thinking maybe it wasn't worth sticking around just to force the issue. Sure she was new in town, but there had to be other places, ones without over-nosy denizens that couldn't take a hint. The nuisance in question was still staring at her, head tilted to one side and that odd little smile on his face, an attempt to look welcoming perhaps? Mostly Dania found it unsettling.

"Seriously, enough is enough. I get when a bloke ain't gonna budge, so I'll just get my things from the kitchen and bail. You can have the place back to yourself, yah?" She brushed her bangs out of her eyes, noting that they were getting way too long. Again. The boy reached out to mimic her movement, but Dania stepped back, not letting him touch her. "Oi! Hands off!"

"You can stay here for the night. I won't let the others bother you. You look like you need to sleep."

"Riiiight... Yeah I'm gonna take a big ol' pass on that one. I'm not a complete bellend you know."

She stepped back again, but the weirdly intense boy stepped forward, keeping the distance between them the same length. "My name is Tate, what's yours?"


End file.
